


Crossroads

by Trekgloria



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 12:55:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13502036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trekgloria/pseuds/Trekgloria
Summary: Ross muses on the question from Margaret, did he love her.





	Crossroads

RIDING HOME

Riding home, Margaret's question monopolized Ross' thoughts. As he reached the crossroad to turn into the corniche that would take him to Nampara, Ross reined the in horse as thoughts provoked by her question filtered through his mind. How often had he reached this spot and made decisions that determined his future? At this moment Ross realized it wasn't the act of leaving home that took one away, it was the decision at the crossroad to leave one place behind and journey to another. Which path you choose that is what had the greatest impact on your future. Until you chose which road and went in that direction, you were still safely held in the arms of home. At the crossroad, decisions demanded to be made, where distances were measured in miles, but never marked in time passing or the resulting life that unfolded as a consequence of those decisions. That was the true mystery of crossroads, perhaps why people saw them as places between the worlds, where spirits lingered, as it was here that the two realms converged. Often, Ross felt when at this crossroad he was betwixt and between for that moment in time, waiting for that one step into a new direction. From this point Ross could journey to Truro, Falmouth, Illugun, Bodmin, even London. Access to the whole world seemed to begin at this singular spot.  
The moor on one side and the sea on the other, both strong definers of Cornish people and society. At this crossroad Ross could see the moors on one side that offered broad sweeping views, the rough landscape, often barren, more stone than dirt, grudgingly allowing people to eek out an existence. The sea, that seemed to go on forever, unmanageable, even capricious, taking and giving life without pause on the other side. Most had to walk a fine line between the land and sea to even subsist. Ross thought of how most people were dependent and buffeted between the two. Living in Cornwall meant constantly being aware and respectful of the land and the sea. Mayhap the ancients who had venerated both understood the importance to revere and appease each with offerings and pleas. It was easy to understand the belief in phantom creatures who inhabited the land, even with the advent of Christianity, they were only pushed aside, never conquered.  
All those years ago, his journey to the Colonies and the war, was marked at this crossroads. Avoiding a conviction for his youthful disdain of the King's law, Ross had paused at this crossroad, turned to look back at Nampara, knowing he was leaving home and his youth behind. And what that choice to leave, to sail away, had wrought. From that single decision lives, not just his, were forever changed. What Ross saw as an adventure, only to be a few years of his life, time to make a name, earn a commission, to allow him to return to polite society as a reformed member of the gentry, was also time for Elizabeth to reach her majority, where they could make a binding pledge. Time, something Ross once ignored, now loomed as the greatest treasure he possessed and the most difficult to defend. All those years, time squandered as recklessly as guineas at the gaming table, believing just one more hand would recoup all that had gone before, all he had lost. How wasteful had he been with the time of his youth at the expense of his future, Ross now wondered.  
In the past Ross always saw crossroads as about leaving, going away from home. However, since his return from the war, this crossroad is where he began the most important part of his journey, returning home. All he had to do was choose the road to Nampara, where waiting for him now was love, comfort, and contentment provided by his wife, Demelza.  
Ross thought how it, their relationship, began here on that fateful day. As he allowed the child Demelza to slide off the horse and begin her walk home with only the expectation of beatings, poverty, and despair. In a moment of kindness for the lass, and perhaps an admiration at her indomitable spirit, he offered to take her into his home, as his scullery maid. But when she negotiated to bring her mutt along, Ross now realized a new direction for his future was set in motion at this very crossroad.  
And Margaret's question, did he love her? Such a question, like arriving at a crossroad demanded an answer. Turning his horse towards home, Ross spurred him on, anxious to see Demelza, to leave behind the turmoil, the disappointment, the day's expended energy. Once home, the sanctuary she created awaited him, even if it was only a few minutes at the table, an hour before the fire, and a night in her arms.  
As Ross crossed the garden the scent of flowers reminded him of how Demelza had transformed his life. Fragrance, color, and food now graced his home. As he reached the back door, he paused and for a moment and realized how thresholds were also a type of crossroads, once you passed through a decision was set in motion, a passage taken. Ross entered at the back pantry and there waiting for him was an ewer of fresh water, a clean linen, and soap she'd made flecked with flower petals. Soap embedded with flowers Ross had assured Demelza wasn't suitable for his washing up. Demelza had laughed and insisted they weren't flower petals to make it pretty, but calendula, lavender, lilac, and honeysuckle, all with curative properties to sooth and heal the many scrapes he acquired from working in the mines or fields. Demelza had insisted he perform this ablutions before eating, something his mother had also demanded of both her husband and son.  
As Ross entered the kitchen, the whiff of a meat pie wrapped in dough browning in the oven met him, something he'd thought about earlier today when hunger reminded him it was time to go home. No matter his appetite, Demelza seemed to know and had what he desired waiting. Ross smiled to think that Pruidie, who lacked any culinary skills could have been responsible for the accomplished cook Demelza was, defied belief. Yet Demelza could not only grow the food, she could transform it into dishes nourishing and delicious, and like a conjurer her expertise from seed to meal defied understanding.  
Ross moved quietly into the hall, wanting to observe her before she knew he had returned. Reaching the parlor door, Ross could hear Demelza, her gentle humming and gingerly matching notes to fuse the two into music. There Demelza sat at the pianoforte, once his mothers, disused for so long, it had gone out of tune and was dusty from lack of use. But, Demelza had coddled and tinkered with it till she brought it back to life. Ross realized this is how Demelza dealt with life, finding what required her attention and devoting the time and an intuitive knowledge to put it right. Perhaps Demelza had seen in him something that needed to be mended. Encouraging, supporting, investing her time, knowing with an instinct what was required to return him to life.  
Ross realized Demelza had quickly gone from his maid, anticipating and completing every task to manage the house to someone who brought him contentment, pleasure, and defined his home. At the end of the day, when Ross sat alone, Demelza was still there. Early on, Ross had invited her in to share the evening with him. Demelza would busy herself mending by the fire, always diligently engaged. But as she grew accustomed to his humors, Demelza asked questions about his day and work. Small conversations between them became normal, sharing their day's labor brought a completion to his day. Soon Ross realized Demalza had become the mistress of Nampara. She was, providing not only nourishment for his body, but a restorative for his soul, and an awakening of his desires.  
Ross was well aware that at some point, Demelza had morphed from childish waif to a desirable young woman. People, remembering his father's penchant for seduction of the local women, high or low born, had assumed the same of him. A consideration that Ross might not share his father's behavior was lost on them. Such expectations of him mattered not to Ross. Gossip had a life of it's own, the truth was never a factor in what people assumed and wanted to believe. Yet the whispered accusations rankled Ross, that because Demelza was his maid and he an unmarried man, he would use her for his own base needs. And Ross was determined to protect Demelza.  
However, from the time of his return and with the loss of Elizabeth, Ross had lived almost as a monk. Unable to separate his love for Elizabeth from the carnal needs of his body for fear of breaking some unshared vow. On the rare occasion, he succumbed to his desires, Ross always felt guilty that he had somehow failed Elizabeth and disappointed himself.  
Only with that first night when Demelza had come to him and Ross took her for the first time, had the ideal of Elizabeth absented itself from his body and mind. That joining with Demelza was an awakening for Ross. Was it her intention, knowing he needed to be restored, determined to return him into the world to live again, Ross wondered. What he had denied in some sort of homage in his love for Elizabeth or despised when necessary taken for a price as a transaction from a working woman, Ross could now experience pleasure and contentment with Demelza. With her, no guilt aggravated his mind as a man fallen or cheapened by his passion. From that moment, when Demelza offered herself to him, a metamorphosis had begun within Ross. The man locked in the barren relationship sustained with only a stagnant memory now was a crossroads within himself. Demelza's willingness to join with him, to respond to his every longing at first perplexed him. Demelza could expect to gain little and he could take everything from her. But that was Demelza, who neither required nor expected anything from him. Demalza possessed the courage to pursue what she desired. Quickly Ross realized he needed Demelza to be there when he woke and as he fell asleep, crossroads each. Demelza filled a portion of his life Ross had not even known existed.  
Studying her, Ross was taken with just how beautiful she was. The sunlight fell across her hair creating highlights like diamonds, twinkling with every move she made. The color in her cheeks rising when she was perplexed, tinged her skin so smooth and soft with a rosy glow. Though he could not see her eyes, Ross knew they darkened as she squinted when deep in thought.  
Walking softly across the room, Ross placed his mouth against the back of her neck, inhaling the fragrance of flowers and the sea air, which remained long after she went inside. Ross had managed to surprise her, and she called out. As she turned to face him, Ross held her head gently and kissed her deeply. As they pulled apart, Demelza dropped her gaze. Still now, early into this new relationship she was never sure if she was his wife entitled to his attentions or the maid who had wantonly seduced her master. That conundrum Demelza faced excited Ross. He loved that she was too was like a crossroad, somehow mysterious and transparent and he could choose the direction they would take together.  
Ross thought of Margaret's question; Did he love her? And recalled his response to Margaret; "We get on." Enough of an answer for her, but hardly the complete story. Ross knew, for herself Demelza's answer would have been a straightforward yes. But for Ross, the journey from needing, wanting, even liking to love had not yet reached that crossroad for him. Once there, like the crossroad to home, it would depend on the direction they choose. But for now, knowing she would be there was what brought him on the path home, to Nampara, to Demelza.


End file.
